


Concrete Thoughts

by chucks_prophet



Series: All Along the Winchesters [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Castiel Feels, Coda, Comforting Castiel, Emotional Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Sad Dean, mention of suicidal thoughts, mentions to PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 10:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11826891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: "Fix me, Cas," he says once Cas is sitting across from him, lifting his head to turn to him with eyes so pleading it speaks for the forest just before it’s ravaged by man. "Heal me."





	Concrete Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to turn this into a series! :D I have lots of inspiration after 12x23, thinking about different codas and whatnot. There will be three total works in this series, so stay tuned for the last one. (:  
> Even though the titles to the first two correspond, you don't need to read this series in any particular order, although it may shed some insight, but feel free to start here and read the previous one, or vice versa.  
> Also, I know I've been writing a lot of angst, but part three will be super funny, I promise.

Cas isn’t sure what to expect when he walks into Dean’s room. Dean’s been quiet all day, not even surfacing for dinner. Not that Cas minds eating with Sam, but he missed not having Dean there to interrupt them from their long-winded, intellectual debates.

Sam told him not to chance it. That Dean will come out when he’s ready. But, as he’s come to learn about himself over the past few years, Cas isn’t one to play by the rules.

"We found a case," Cas says after stepping inside, feeling like the only body in the house of a theatre. Dean's the star on stage—always is in Cas's life—searching for his lines. Cas knows what it's like being betrayed by his own mind, if being brainwashed counts for anything. He's also spent countless nights _wishing_ he'd be brainwashed into thinking about anything other than the devastation he left in Heaven and convincing himself he'd be better off dead.

When he comes up short, Cas continues, "Suspected demon activity in Sulphur, Oklahoma. I thought that was funny, since..." He clears his throat. "Sam's driving."

"Like Hell he is," Dean mumbles loud enough into the stage mic to receive light applause from Cas in the form of a smile. Most people would be turned off by the constant joking, but it's a relief rushing through Cas’s ears. It means Dean's not all the way gone.

“Sometimes I miss being a demon," Dean says after a minute, shaking his head. "I mean, I hated it. I hated who I was and the constant hunger—everything I did, all the sex and the-the killings, none of it ever sated me. I was like an animal always on the prowl for new carcasses to tear into.

“But I never once questioned myself. Or doubted anything, or feared anything. I didn't see these flashes of pain on the faces of people I'd hurt, or worse. I didn't wake up in the middle of the night screaming. I didn't have this constant fucking weight on my chest that could anchor me to the bottom of the goddamn ocean, I just..."

Cas forces himself to tear his gaze from Dean, whose body is stiff, hunched over the edge of his bed. His hands, the same hands that have brought on both nurture and ruination and nursed more than a few beers, now comb over his face and through his hair.

"Fix me, Cas," he says once Cas is sitting across from him, lifting his head to turn to him with eyes so pleading it speaks for the forest just before it’s ravaged by man. "Heal me."

Cas knows he's more than a cameo in Dean's life, that much is evident after he found his bloodied trenchcoat draped over Dean, who was curled up in the backseat of his Impala when Cas found him. But he also knows how hard it is to break through concrete thoughts. Dean has many of them. About the ones he loves, the ones he hates—about himself.

Besides, even if he could fix him, the last time he broke down someone’s mental walls, it broke _Sam’s_ head and Dean had a hard time forgiving him for that. Cas can take the brunt of the blame, he's thought worse of himself, but Dean doesn't need one more thing eating at him. "I can't fix that, Dean," he says, returning Dean's gaze with eyelids that droop into their own individual frowns. Even though Dean's eyes leave his, Cas's don't long after he adds, "I'm sorry. Truly.”

After a beat, Dean laughs—a dry, distant sound, "Yeah, no, 'course..." He shakes his head. "It's a stupid thing to ask. It's not like a physical injury or anything..."

Cas feels his jaw tighten. "Dean..."

"No, just forget it," Dean says with heat, but only towards himself.

"Dean," Cas says again, more firmly this time. It's not enough for Dean to look at him, but he doesn't care, the words are coming out like excess water from a condiments tube, "Just because it doesn't have a cast around it doesn't mean it's not there. I can see your suffering, Dean. I can cure your insomnia, but I can't stop the nightmares from coming. I can ease the pain in your chest, but I can't prevent a panic attack. Believe me, I thought it would be a blessing having my grace back, but instead it just opens my eyes to all the suffering that I can't fix."

Dean says in a breathy whisper his name, and then Cas is the one pleading, "No, just… don't. Please."

A moment passes between them with only the sound of their breathing to occupy the silence before Dean speaks up, "Maybe you don't need your mojo.”

"Of course I need my mojo, Dean," Cas says, "I know you and Sam accept me with or without it, but I can't. I can’t feel completely powerless to all of this."

"No, I mean to heal me.”

Cas turns his head to see Dean's mouth twitch, and, knowing Dean as well as he does, it's about as close as he comes to a smile nowadays. "I... I don't know what you're—"

"Let me try something."

Cas blinks a few times, but nods. He trusts Dean more than the host of Heaven. It's kind of what made it impossible for the angels to side with him when they fell, and what made makes it _possible_ for Cas to be okay with a little bit of char on his feathers.

Then Dean shifts his left leg so his denim-clad knee is facing Cas. He licks his lips, eyes raking Cas’s face with more carefulness than the leaves in Lisa Braeden's backyard. Cas is equally careful not to draw in his own lip and focuses on breathing as he keeps his eyes on Dean, even when his musk is crowding the senses in his nose and even more so when Dean leans closer.

In fact, he thinks he can breathe in a little bit better when Dean's lips are wrapping around his upper lip. He even breathes into Dean at the same time he does, causing both their mouths to part and then close around each other again.

This time, it's more firm, more cemented in the fact that they're actually kissing, lips moving in cadence to a dance only they know. It's a slow one with not only lips, but limbs too. Cas's hands reach up to hold Dean's face, as if gravity is strong enough to pull them apart.

But Sam might.

"I just got another alert," Sam calls after knocking on the door a few times, "Another hit in Sulphur. Are in or out?"

Their foreheads resting against each other, that's when Cas catches the smile on Dean's face before they both reply, in tandem, "We're in."


End file.
